He Always Did the Leaving
by liebedance
Summary: "He should have known that I of all people would never leave him. But then again, how could he know? He never even gave me the chance to leave. He always did the leaving."


**[A/N: This was written for museme87 on Live Journal in the community hp_wishes for the prompt "He always did the leaving"**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Remus or Sirius or James or anything in the universe in which they reside.]**

It seemed as though I never had any say in the matter. He didn't care that I wanted to hash it out, scream bloody murder and shake the entire Gryffindor tower with punches and misfired jinxes. Maybe he didn't realise it, but he never seemed to care what I needed in the situation. He would never – _never -_ yell back.

He would always just leave, more desperate to avoid conflict than to actually try to fix something. I guess he thought that if he fought back, we'd abandon him. He thought he didn't deserve to fight back. It was always because of his stupid fucking _inferiority_ complex.

He should have known that James was too noble to turn on a friend. He should have known that I of all people would _never_ leave him. But then again, how could he know? He never even gave me the chance to leave. He always did the leaving.

The first time we fought was during first year. To be frank, I can't quite be bothered to remember what it was about. Something inane, no doubt. It was always the little things we would fight over, the things that most people wouldn't lend a second glance to. But, there I was, newly twelve and screaming at Remus for _something_ and he just up and left. Not a shout, not a word. He just calmly got up and left me alone in the dormitory.

James and Peter returned that night to find the hangings torn to shreds and every glass of water shattered.

And that prank. That prank that I was daft and immature enough to pull on Snivillus. I was certain he'd yell at me for that. Not that I'd been _trying_ to get a reaction out of him. I was just sure that would have been a side effect.

You'd think that after years of being his friend I'd realise that he wasn't the shouting type. I should've predicted that, the moment he saw me in our dormitory, he'd turn around and leave without so much as a nod in my direction.

Yes, I deserved that. I really did. I deserved worse than a month of silent treatment from Remus and a thorough pounding from James. I got off easily. But that silence was louder than any possible shout and the walking away that hurt more than any blow to the face could have. It was like he didn't care.

But he did. I know he did. After that long month of unbearable silence was over, he came back. He approached me in the Common Room and said that he was sorry and that he forgave me. I asked him what on Earth he was sorry for and he just laughed hollowly. I'd betrayed him and somehow his mind had twisted it into his own fault.

Maybe he was always leaving so that it was on his terms, so that we couldn't leave him first.

I remember the first "I love you." How could I forget it? I replayed it for days, trying to figure out what I'd done wrong.

We'd shifted almost seamlessly from friends to lovers a month previously. I thought everything was going great. Remus was happier than I'd ever seen him before, there was no denying that. Being with him was right. There was absolutely no other way I could describe other than that he was the other half of me I'd been missing for so long. True, I'd had James for over five years. But that was the friend and brother half of me.

Remus was different and I didn't care if one could only have two halves to a whole. I never held much by the way of muggle mathematics anyway.

But when that first "I love you" was answered with "I can't do this. I can't be a _gay werewolf,_" I about blew up the corridor. I saw it coming this time. I knew before it happened that he would turn and walk away and not even give me the chance to try to convince him.

Stubborn is what he was. Stubborn and plagued with years of emotional baggage because of what the world made him to be. But he could only be _that_ stubborn for so long. Especially when the powers of the Black family good looks were at stake.

And so he came back, as I knew he would. Because even though he was always the one doing the leaving, he was always the one coming back full of apologies and whispers of him not deserving me.

I often wished that the guilty and complex ridden Remus would leave so that I could have _my_ Remus. It wasn't until we were out of Hogwarts that I realised that _my_ Remus and the Remus I wished would leave him alone were one in the same. There was no off switch, no charm I could cast to free my boyfriend from himself.

And, so, I accepted it. I let him leave when we fought, knowing that he would come back. I didn't push for fear that I would lose him forever. Instead, I'd pick up my two-way mirror and call James who would promptly arrive at my flat, a bottle of firewhiskey in one hand, and listen to me rant and rave.

I know James didn't like it much. I know he wished that we were different, that we could work things out normally. But, hell, this was Remus and I. The werewolf and the white sheep of the Black family. If any relationship was doomed to abnormality bordering on dysfunctionality, it was ours. And so James never said a word.

But, here we are, almost ten years after that first fight and he's left again. Only this time he isn't coming back, and I know it. This time there is no James to get pissed with.

I want to think that he don't believe I would have betrayed them. I want to think that he'd fight with every bit of Gryffindor nerve he has to find out the real traitor. I want him to know that I am innocent.

But why should he? I didn't tell him about the switch. It was a dangerous time; we could no longer trust the oldest of friends. James and I thought he must have been the spy. No way could _Peter_ have been a spy. Remus was, after all, a werewolf.

I hated that I used that as a justification, but I did. I didn't want to think he could betray James, Dumbledore, and myself in that way, but I did. So why wouldn't he believe the same of me?

After all, I was the one who wouldn't look him in the eye for weeks, who would spend days on end anywhere but at our flat. I was the one who, even as I lay next to him, wasn't completely there. I wasn't strong enough to leave; I loved him too much. But in my half hearted attempts to distance myself from him, I became the picture of guilt. Everything pointed to me.

Yes, he always did the leaving. But that didn't mean it wasn't my fault.


End file.
